Love Unfold
by ms metaphor
Summary: When Jack makes the ultimate sacrifice to save Kate, she begins to realize just how much he means to her. [Jate, with some Skate. AU. Post I Do]
1. This Changes Everything

**Rating**: R

**Genre**: Romance/Angst

**Spoilers**: through 'I Do'

**Summary**: When Jack makes the ultimate sacrifice to save Kate, she begins to realize just how much he means to her. Post 'I Do.' Jate, with some Skate

**Disclaimer**: Don't sue. I don't own anything.

* * *

**Love Unfold**

Part One: This Changes Everything

It wasn't a difficult decision.

In fact, it just might be the easiest decision he had ever made. It came to him simply and wholly, and in one breathless moment, he knew—he knew, he knew, he _knew_—what he must do.

It wasn't difficult, because this—the sight of her naked form cradled in Sawyers arms—changed everything. Suddenly, he knew that Kate must survive, that Kate must be happy. And if this meant Sawyer must live, so be it. If this meant he, Jack, must stay behind, then so be it. If this meant using himself, his own life, as collateral for her freedom, then so be it.

_Do you get nervous?_ Ben asked.

_Not anymore_, he said.

He was not afraid. Not this time. There was a fierce, crazy energy in his blood, something that gave his hands speed and precision as he cut out the tumor, and there was a righteous anger that he never felt before coursing through his body. But there was no fear—not in the quiet, steady beating of his heart or deep within the marrow of his bones. There was only absolute certainty and the one recurrent thought of _Be brave, Kate. I need you to be brave._

The surgery went remarkably well. Perhaps this was because of his heightened focus, his own force of will. Perhaps, he inwardly scoffed to himself, it was _fate_ that Ben should live. In any case, when he made the call to Kate and she answered him in a voice thick with fear, he decided that as long as she survived, he didn't care whether or not fate had a hand in it.

…_When you get safe, you radio me and you tell me that story._

She cried that she wouldn't leave without him, and he screamed at her to _run_, and his entire life suddenly came to this one point in time, this moment turning, spinning, poised on the apex of her choice.

And even though he didn't really believe in God, he breathed a prayer to whoever might be listening.

_Please, let her be safe. Let her be happy._

There was a rush, a roar, of feeling in his ears. Not fear, not anger. He didn't have a name for it as it washed over him, silencing all other noise around him.

_Let her be free.

* * *

_

It was something in the sound of Jack's voice—fury, desperation—that made her run. Everything inside screamed at her to stay, to _find Jack_, _wait for Jack_, _save Jack_, but nevertheless her feet took off into the jungle. The undergrowth tore at her skin and clothes as she dodged trees and stray branches, dragging Sawyer along with her. She held his wrist in a vice grip as he stumbled behind her, eventually bringing both of them face-first into the mud.

Breath coming ragged now, they laid on the ground for a few long moments. Kate still clutched Sawyer's wrist, afraid to let him go. A wound high on his forehead poured blood, which the pounding rain washed away from his eyes. He stared at her, his face pale and one arm wrapped around his bruised ribs. _We won't make it much farther at this pace,_ she thought, and then glanced at her watch. Only twenty more minutes till she needed to radio Jack.

_Jack, _she thought. _Damn you, Jack, if anything happens to you…_ Emotion hit her like a tidal wave, and she bit her lip, swallowing back tears.

Sawyer watched her intently and then crawled over to her. "Com'on, Freckles. Let's get out of this downpour."

Kate followed him to a cluster of trees under which they huddled and rested. Sawyer pressed delicately at the gash on his head. She wiped the rain from her face.

"Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"What're we going to do?"

"Don't know, Freckles. Thought you had a plan."

"The main island, our island… How far is it? Can we swim to it?"

"Depends on how good of a swimmer you are. I'm not fit to swim across a kiddie pool right now, but you might make it. You could go head, bring back help."

"I'm not leaving you!" she snapped. "I've already…"

"Left Jack," he finished. His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "Don't feel guilty, Freckles. He told you to go. Probably just wants to be the damn hero again."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't." She turned away from him, burying her head in her arms. Sometimes Sawyer said the one thing she didn't want or need to hear. This, she decided, is one of those times.

"I ain't trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to figure what we're going do in the next twenty minutes before we get captured and thrown back into those damn cages. Got any suggestions?"

For a moment, Kate seriously considered punching him in the face. "No, I don't have any _suggestions_, other than swimming that channel, in which case we won't be able to bring help for at least another day or two. That is, if we even make it across. And by that time, Jack could be…"

She shut her eyes, and for one heady moment, she remembered the expression on Jack's face the day they were captured. Bound, gagged, and kneeling on the dock, his eyes met hers with such intensity and promise that she just _knew_ everything would be okay.

No one had ever looked at her like that before.

"We have to go back," she said softly. "We can't leave him."

"Are you crazy? They had a _gun_ pointed at my head. I ain't going back there."

"Fine. Don't." She met Sawyer's gaze impassively. "But I am."

He grabbed her forearm. "No way in hell—"

"You're _not_ going to stop me, Sawyer."

His grip tightened till it hurt and her fingers began to go numb. Finally, he let go and stepped back, shaking his head. "I should'a known."

"Should've known what?"

"Should'a known you couldn't let go of the doc. I thought maybe with you professing your love for me and all…" He laughed bitterly.

Kate opened her mouth to reply but found that no sound could come. After a long moment, she managed, "I didn't… Jack, he… This isn't about you and me!"

" 'Course it is."

"Whatever. Do what you want. I'm not leaving him here."

"And what are you planning to do? We don't even know where they're holding him. Even if we can get close to the Hydra, how're we supposed to find him and get him out with getting caught ourselves? We haven't got weapons, no knives or guns—"

"I don't know, all right? _I don't know_." She paused and clenched her fists, which were faintly trembling with anger, pent-up frustration. "I—I'll figure it out. It doesn't really matter right now. All that matters is that they've got Jack, and they're probably going to kill him after he finishes the surgery. And I can't let that happen."

Sawyer swore softly. Then he said, "So I guess we turn around."

"I thought you said—"

"You think I'm going let you go in there all by your lonesome? You'd get yourself shot, Freckles. I can't let _that_ happen." He reached out, gently touching her face, fingers tracing the delicate arch of her jaw.

Kate smiled up at him. _There's my Sawyer_.

And, taking his hand, she thought, _I'm coming, Jack_.

* * *

"_Happy Birthday, Jack."_

_Setting aside his copy of the morning paper, Christian Shephard smiled at his thirteen-year-old son and nodded toward the red envelope propped up in the middle of the kitchen table. Jack grinned back at him and said, "What's this?"_

"_A surprise."_

_Jack reached for the envelope and tore it open, pausing a moment before pulling out two rectangular slips of paper. He flipped them over, and his eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Red Sox tickets? This is… Thank you."_

"_You're welcome, son."_

"_But, isn't this game in Boston? How are—"_

"_I have a conference there next weekend. I thought you could come with, and we could catch a game at Fenway."_

"_But what about Mom?"_

"_She's not coming this time. This trip is for men only."_

_Jack gave a small smile, but his dark, serous eyes were unusually bright. "That would be great, Dad. I can't wait."_

"_Neither can I, kiddo."_

_The smile on Jack's face grew larger, more confident. "Think the Sox will win the series this year?" he said, repeating their time-honored joke._

_Christian snorted. "No way in hell. It's fate, Jack. It's fate, and _that's_ why the Red Sox will never win the series."

* * *

_

Jack watched the clock intently. Could the second hand _possibly_ move any slower? Three more minutes…

He moved over to the operating table and inspected Ben's incision. Blood was pooling around the liver. He swabbed it and tossed the bloodied cloth away. So far, so good.

Juliet watched him intently from across the room. Her mouth pulled into a tight, hard line; her eyes followed and measured the movement of his hands. "Jack," she said, "what you're doing is… suicidal. I could've protected you, you know."

He didn't bother to answer her, didn't even bother to acknowledge her.

"And do you think they're going to let you go now? You're dangerous now. And—and some of them will want revenge."

Jack laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. "I expect they will."

"Jack, I really think you—"

"What do you _want_, Juliet? All this time I've been here, you've pretended to be on my side when we both know—"

"_Jack!"_

The radio. He scrambled for the radio. "Kate? You there?"

"_Jack, I'm here."_

The words washed over him like the cool, gentle waves that lapped the beach on a hot day. _Thank you_, he thought to no one in particular.

Her voice came again, this time a little softer, breathier. _"I'm safe. We're safe."_

_She means Sawyer_, he realized, and felt the cold grip of jealousy around his heart. He was simultaneously relieved and angry that the other man escaped unharmed. Part of him cried out that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't right, that Sawyer did not deserve Kate, that Sawyer would not protect Kate. But he shoved these thoughts into some dark corner of his mind. For Kate's sake, he would be glad Sawyer was alive and free.

Clearing his throat, he said, "All right, Kate. Tell me the story."

"_It was your first solo procedure. Everything was going fine until the very end, when you accidentally tore her… what's it called?"_

"Dural sac."

"_Yeah, that. You were afraid, afraid that that girl was going to die, and the fear was just—just overwhelming, So you decided to let the it in. To let it in and let it do its thing, but just for five seconds. And you did. And then you sewed her up, and she was fine. And… Jack?"_

"Yeah?"

"_I'm not running now."_

"Kate!"

_Click_.

"Kate!" he shouted. "Kate. Are you there?" No answer. He clenched the radio so hard his fist began to shake. _Damnit, Kate,_ he thought. _Don't do this to me._

"Jack?" Juliet leaned over the table and Ben's prone body. "Hadn't you better sew him up now? Before—before it's too late?"

"Yeah."

Jack set the radio aside and picked up a needle, his hands ever so slightly unsteady.

Even so, the movements came easy after hundreds of hours of surgery. He pulled the thread tight and finished the procedure with one swift, tight knot. Then he breathed, suddenly feeling exhaustion come down like a heavy blanket around his body.

"Done."


	2. The Cost of Love

**Disclaimer**: Don't sue. I don't own anything.

* * *

**Love Unfold**

Part Two: The Cost of Love

_Margo Shephard was on the phone when she heard the front door burst open. It slammed shut, and a moment later the quiet was punctuated by the pounding of feet up the stairs._

"_Can I call you back, Angela? All right, that'd be great."_

_She set the phone back on its receiver and sighed deeply._

"_Jack?" she called up stairs. "Jack, come down here a moment."_

"_What is it, Mom?" Her son's dark head and keen brown eyes appeared over the second story railing. "I've got to finish packing for this weekend. I don't have time—"_

"_Your father called a few minutes ago."_

_Jack blinked, then turned away. His hands, once so small but now becoming large and strong like his father's, gripped the banister so hard they shook with the force of it. Strangely and all at once, Margo thought to herself, _He's going to be surgeon.

_Yes, Jack would be a surgeon—a good one like Christian_. _And though he might never drink himself sick, he would pay just as high a price, perhaps even higher. When life sought to wound him, he would meet it head on and take its blows into his fierce, unforgiving heart. He would pay in his own blood and tears. _

_And her heart ached for him, much as it ached for her husband._

"_Something came up at work," she continued. "An emergency. He won't… He says you'll have take a rain check on the Red Sox game."_

"_Why am I not surprised."_

_But inwardly, Jack was surprised. It was written all over his features—the tensing of his jaw, pull of his brow, and quick fluttering of his eyes._

Don't cry,_ he thought. _Do not cry.

"_Jack—"_

_He didn't let her finish but merely walked away, shutting himself up his room for the remainder of the night.

* * *

_

Several hours after the surgery, three large men entered Jack's cell. They bound his hands, pressed the barrel of a gun into his lower back, dragged him down a long hallway, and shoved him into a small, bright room.

At first, he found it difficult to breathe in this room. The ceiling was low, and the walls were a cold, grayish white. There were neither windows nor any sort of artwork or pictures. A narrow bed extended from the far wall into the center of the room, and in the bed laid a quiet, familiar figure.

"Hello, Jack."

"Hello, Ben."

"Well, aren't you going to sit down?"

Jack sat in a hard wooden chair placed conveniently beside the bed.

"How did it go?"

"You'll be fine." Jack folded his hands and looked Ben in the eye. "I got the tumor. All of it."

"A successful surgery then."

"I suppose."

"You accomplished what you set out to do," Ben said. "Your friends are free—for now."

"You didn't think I was going to _trust_ you."

"I underestimated you, Jack. I should've known better." He gave a slight, strange smile.

"You drove me to it."

"Yes. Even so, it was an extremely unselfish act. But love is like that, isn't it? You know, sometimes I wonder, Jack, why you? Why are you here?"

"You brought me here, Ben. Why don't you tell me?"

"That's not what I meant, Jack. But I think you know what I mean."

Jack ground his teeth, glancing for a moment at the blank wall above Ben's head. "Don't play games with me."

"Oh, this is no game. Quite the contrary. You know that I won't be able to keep my promise."

"If that mattered to me, I wouldn't have done what I did."

"So we do understand each other."

A beat.

"I like you, Jack. I'm sorry that I can't let you live. I'm sorry, but you've given me no choice."

"There's always a choice," Jack said simply. His face darkened as he remembered Kate's small, nimble hands pressed against the glass, her hazel eyes clouding with tears and her mouth pulling into a broken smile.

Ben replied, "Kate has certainly made her choice."

"She made the right choice. She's safe now."

"Are you sure?"

Was he sure? He was sure that it felt like a hard blow to his stomach, seeing her rest in another man's arms. He was sure that he would miss her, would miss everything about her, whether he survived another day or another year in this place. He was sure that Sawyer cared deeply about her, and he was sure that that was probably the worst part of it all.

"Yes," he said finally, "I'm sure."

"Then it was worth it."

Jack did not reply, but silently, he thought that he could not agree more.

* * *

"There it is," Kate said and pushed aside some of the undergrowth. The concrete building spread out before them, a dormant gray structure that looked so very out of place in the middle of the jungle. It appeared to be unguarded. All the windows were dark, and the nearest door—the very one Jack was taken into, bound and hooded—was a mere twenty yards away.

Resting a hand on Kate's waist, Sawyer peered over her shoulder. "We don't even know if it's unlocked."

She shrugged, trying to act oblivious to his closeness when she was in fact hyper-aware of his fingers pressing into her skin. It was an uncomfortable sort of awareness, the kind that made her want to twitch and inch away from him.

"Only one way to find out." Crouching down, head low, she darted out toward the door.

But she didn't get three feet into the clearing before Sawyer seized her by the forearms and dragged her back behind the covering of trees. "Are you crazy?!" he hissed. "You got a death wish? How do you know nobody's watching? They probably got cameras all over this place!"

He released her and began to scan the ground, kicking up leaves and edges of plants with the toe of his boots. Finally he picked up a stone that fit nicely into the palm of his hand. "This'll do."

"Sawyer—"

"Hang on a minute."

He swung his arm in a wide, smooth arc. The rock went sailing through the air, hitting the metallic door with a loud _thud_.

"What did you do that for! Now they'll know we're here."

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "If there's anyone watching, they'll come out. If not, then we know the coast is clear. See?"

"Right."

Maybe she was being a little rash, she thought. It wasn't exactly like her, but she couldn't help it. If it were anyone but Jack in there, she would keep a cool head, would stop to think and strategize and would know at what point this rescue mission became hopeless. But it was not anyone else; it was Jack. And the thought of Jack being _gone_ was so inconceivable that she could not wrap her mind around it.

When Pickett pointed a gun to Sawyer's head and threatened to kill him, it had hurt like a big gaping wound. If he had died, she would miss his smirks and his repartee, his ability to nearly read her mind, and his unbending pride.

But Kate could not imagine never seeing Jack again.

"So I guess there isn't anyone there," Sawyer said, breaking her reverie. "We can make a run for it."

"Don't you think you should stay here? If one of us gets caught, then the other can still go for help."

"Don't be stupid, Freckles. If I'm here and you're in there, how am I supposed to know if they catch you?"

"Good point."

They moved into the clearing as softly as they could. Sawyer's feet still made the leaves rustle and the occasional twig snap, but months on this island taught Kate how to move silently across the earth. They reached the door and paused. Kate pressed herself against the concrete wall, breathed one heavy, deep breath. _Jack's in there_, she reminded herself. _And I'm going to save him_.

She decided right then and there that running to Jack was much better than running from him.

"Ready?"

Sawyer looked at her, his eyes blue and his mouth tight. "So we're just winging it then?"

"Got a better plan?"

"No. But for the record though, this is a half-assed idea."

"I know."

She yanked the heavy door open, and they crossed into darkness.

* * *

Someday--if they ever got off this island and if she managed to escape arrest--Kate would go golfing with Jack.

As they moved through the long, dim corridor, she promised herself this.

They would go to some swanky country club that Jack, a wealthy LA surgeon, patronized regularly and where she, a farm girl from Iowa, didn't belong. It would be summer, and he would wear khaki pants and a breezy linen shirt, and she would wear a blue sundress. She'd watch the way his deft surgeon's hands gripped the nine-iron and how his trim waist and broad shoulders twisted with his smooth, powerful swing. Of course, he would give a shout of victory when he made it in under par; in response, she'd only smile and roll her eyes. Afterwards, they'd have drinks at the cocktail bar and listen to a live jazz ensemble and dance like old friends who'd known each other for decades.

And then she'd remember this day and this feeling, and she'd laugh at the fact that she was ever so afraid of losing him.

* * *

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	3. Two Fool Things

**Author's Note**: Thank you SO MUCH to all those who reviewed part one and two. The reviews were encouraging and motivating, and I'll do my best to not disappoint! I'm sorry this update took so long. This is finals week, which means I am sleep-deprived, overworked, and more than a little unhinged. Regardless, I'll try to have the next chapter up in a few days. After finals are over, I promise updates will be much faster! Anyway, here is part three. It's not quite as action-packed as part one or two, but it is longer. I hope it was worth the wait.

**Disclaimer**: I have no money, and I don't own anything. Spare yourself the waste of time—don't sue.

* * *

**Love Unfold**

Part Three: Two Fool Things

Even though she'd been inside the Hydra many times, Alex still got chills every time she came down these damp, cool passageways. The greenish cast of light made it difficult to see, and it was eerily quiet and still, the whole place smothered in a deep hush.

She rarely saw anyone walking around these passages; so when she heard two pairs of approaching footsteps echoing down the corridor, she reacted immediately. Ducking behind the nearest corner, she held her breath and listened to the footfalls—the uneven rhythms, one heavier than the other, which probably meant that one of the two was taller, larger, and male.

Then came voices, growing clearer with every passing moment.

"So when is Ben going to take care of… our doctor problem?"

_Pickett_. _Bastard_.

"As soon as he sees fit."

_Juliet_, she thought with equal distaste.

"With Ben calling the shots around here, that ain't going to be any time soon."

"And does it bother you that Ben's calling the shots?"

"He doesn't have his priorities straight. He promised Shephard he'd let him off the island if he removed the tumor, and I think he actually wants to keep that promise. I think Ben actually _likes _the man." A beat. "Fool."

The footsteps stopped. Alex peeked around the corner to see Juliet turn and face Pickett. The blond haired woman grasped his arm and looked him directly in the eye. Her large eyes narrowed, glittering cold and sharp in a way that made Alex shiver.

"Then perhaps we need to… restructure the chain of command."

Pickett laughed. "You in the running for his job?"

"Maybe I am."

And Pickett stopped laughed. "What do you suggest?" he said.

"Are we in agreement?"

"Oh, I'd say we are."

Juliet nodded, continuing, "I wanted Jack to—to take _care_ of this problem during the surgery. Unfortunately, he's a bit too… _noble _for our use."

"Noble? He was gonna let Ben bleed to death on the table."

"Yes, but that was for Kate's sake. My point is, he won't be a pawn, so we need another plan."

"Oh."

"Nothing's certain right now, but I'd like to know I can count on you." She gave Pickett a hard look, her mouth curling into an arch smile.

"When the time's right, you know where to find me."

"Good."

"There are others who will be pleased to know that you—"

A metallic _creak_, the opening of a door, then more voices and footsteps. The two conspirators fell silent, listening to the commotion.

"You there, what's going on?" Juliet called.

Alex moved to a position where she could see further down the hall. Two men came into view. They had their guns drawn and were dragging two handcuffed prisoners along with them—two prisoners that Alex recognized. It was the woman with pretty, curling hair and the tall, ornery blond man. Kate and Sawyer, she remembered. But that was odd; she thought they escaped.

"Found these two trying to tiptoe around here. Thought they were gonna free their friend."

"Well," Juliet said pleasantly, "they were very wrong."

Sawyer growled at her, but Kate was silent. Her head hung low; her posture was weary, desperate. Alex had only spoken to Kate once, but she'd watched from a far and she couldn't help but like her. Kate had intelligence, spirit, chutzpah.

Though there was no sign of that chutzpah now.

Juliet moved in close to Kate, addressing the other woman directly. "I gave you a chance to save his life"—she nodded at Sawyer—"and Jack gave you second chance. But now that you've wasted those opportunities, you're going to lose both of them."

Kate looked up from the ground. "What do you _want_ from us? I told you, I'll do anything!" she cried.

"Kate, I don't want anything _from_ you. I am only interested in how you can help me. But unfortunately, you haven't been very helpful." Juliet turned to their captors. "Put them back in their cages."

Juliet, Picket, Kate and Sawyer, and the armed men continued down the corridor past Alex's hiding spot, where she leaned against the wall and took big, fast breathes.

She needed to get to Ben _right now_. He needed to know about this, because Alex knew from experience that Juliet is ruthless. And despite his better judgment, Ben always liked Juliet. That was something she never understood about her mentor and father figure. But then, she figured, everyone's got a blind spot.

Moving swiftly, she stayed close to the wall and bowed out sight whenever she passed surveillance cameras. Finally she came to Ben's room and opened the door, shutting it softly behind her as she stepped inside.

"Ben?"

He lay prone in a standard white hospital bed, his eyes shut and body still.

"Ben?" she whispered again.

"Alex…" he murmured, his eyes coming open.

"Oh, Ben." She crouched at his bedside and fit her hand in his, gripping it like a lifeline. "You're okay."

He smiled weakly. "I'm okay. A little tired yet from the surgery, but I'll be okay."

"Thank God," she breathed.

"Yes," he said, "I've already thanked him myself."

"I've been so worried about you! They wouldn't let me see you, and they wouldn't even tell me what was wrong. I knew you were sick, and I overheard a bit about the surgery, but…" Her voice caught with emotion.

He squeezed her hand. "They're watching me. They're worried that they can't trust me and that I have my own agenda." His smile grew wider. "Which I did, naturally."

"To get the doctor to operate on your back."

"Yes. And they intrigued me—Jack, Kate, and Sawyer."

"And now?"

"And now I promised Jack I'd get him off this island. I'm not sure that's possible anymore."

"Ben, I need to tell you something. I saw—I mean, I heard—something."

"Something about me?"

"Yeah."

"Go on."

"Juliet and Pickett were talking, and Juliet, she thinks you're a 'problem'—one that she wants to get rid of."

The expression on Ben's face didn't change. "I expected as much."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Not much I can do, Alex."

"But you have to do something!"

"I'm confined to this bed and this room. I can only wait."

"But _I_ can do something."

He stared her for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"All right then… I need you to talk to Jack."

"The doctor?"

"Yes. Tell him what you heard. Tell him I always keep my promises. Then I need you to free the other two, Kate and Sawyer, and take them back to their island."

Alex studied her mentor. His skin was still pale and his eyes still ringed in bluish-black from the hours-long surgery he had to endure just twenty-four hours before; yet his voice was tinged with a puzzling irony that implied he knew exactly what is going on—even when everyone else did not. She wished she understood him. Even though she cared about him, she couldn't read him any better than anyone else could.

"I'm glad," she said. "They seem like good people."

"Good…" And there was that irony again, as well as a wistfulness that Alex didn't often see in Ben. "No, they're not good. But they certainly could be, and I think they will be, one day."

"Why are you letting them go?" She didn't bother to ask why they'd been captured and caged in the first place. She knew there were some things Ben would never tell her, regardless of their relationship.

"Because one day soon, I will need their help."

* * *

_This was better than he had imagined, Jack thought. He sat in the field box above the Sox dugout in the historic Fenway Park, holding a half-eaten hot dog in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He really wanted a beer, but since his father was abstaining, he figured he'd better stick to something nonalcoholic. _

"_Fantastic seats, Jack," said his dad. "And a Sox-Yankees game. How in hell did you get these tickets?"_

_Jack shrugged. "Friend of a friend has season tickets."_

"_Well, I don't know if I've said it already, but thank you, son."_

_Jack felt his face warm with a faint blush. It wasn't often his father was so pleasant. "You're welcome."_

_It was a beautiful, sunny day; the stadium was packed; and the fans were loud and wild. It was, in short, the perfect day for a baseball game. Sometime during the second inning, Jack and Christian placed bets on which player would hit a homer before the game was over. _

"_I'm telling you, it's going to be Ortiz."_

"_Whatever, Dad."_

"_It will. Wait and see. If I'm right, you're buying dinner. And I get to choose the restaurant."_

"_Deal."_

_Dinner with his father—that didn't seem like such a bad wager to Jack. This was, in fact, the first time in _years _they had done something fun together. This was the first time years Jack could stand to be around his father. His father had recently cut back on his hours at work, and the AA meetings he was attending had done wonders. If Christian was telling the truth, he hadn't had a drink in one month and four days. _

_And besides, this was twenty years overdue. At thirty-three, Jack was finally receiving the birthday gift his father had given him at thirteen years old._

_Neither of the teams had hit a home run by the fifth inning, and Jack was secretly hoping his father would win the bet._

_He never got the chance to find out._

_His dad's cell phone rang, and Christian flipped it open, glancing at the number. "I've got to get this," he said. "I'll be right back."_

_He returned several minutes later, a grim expression on his face. "That was the hospital. The patient I'm consulting on needs surgery tonight, if he's even alive by the time I get there."_

"_Right." Jack glanced out over the field. The scoreboard read two to two, with Ortiz up to bat. "I guess we had better go."_

_As a spinal surgeon, he understood perfectly the urgency of the situation. He understood that a man's life was more important than a baseball game. But as son who wanted to just spend time with his father, he could only feel the disappointment like a big, gaping hole in the hollow of his stomach._

_Christian offered a faint smile. "I guess you'll just have to get tickets to another game."_

"_Sure. I'll talk to that friend of a friend. Do you want me to drive you back to the hospital?"_

"_I should probably drop you off at the hotel and then go there myself. I don't know how late I'll be tonight."_

_They left the ballpark, and Jack returned to their hotel room while Christian drove to Emerson hospital, a short distance from the Boston city limits. Jack ordered dinner and turned on the TV, watching mind-numbing commercials for the remainder of the night. _

_Shortly after one a.m., Jack picked up the phone and dialed the hospital's number._

"_Emerson Hospital. How may I direct your call?"_

"_The OR, please," Jack said. Their plane was leaving in ten hours, and he figured if his father was staying at the hospital all night or if there were complications during the surgery, Christian may want to take a different flight._

"_Emerson Hospital OR. How many I help you?"_

"_May I please speak to Dr. Christian Shephard?"_

"_I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist said, "but there's no Dr. Shephard here. You may have the wrong hospital."_

"_Are you sure? He's a visiting physician, a spinal surgeon, consulting on a case…He may be in surgery right now."_

"_I'm quite sure, sir. We don't have any consulting physicians here right now."_

_Jack breathed deeply and pressed his fingertips to his temple. "Look, I'm quite certain he's there. Could you just—just check on that?"_

"_Sure," said the receptionist, clearly annoyed._

"_Thanks." _

_A few minutes passed. Jack waited to the sound of saxophone jazz as he stared vacantly out the window. _

"_Sir?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_I checked with several of the other nurses and doctors. No one's heard of a Dr. Shephard."_

"_Oh." Sigh. "Thanks."_

_He hung up and fell back on to the bed. _Jack Shephard, you fool, _he told himself, _when will you ever learn?

* * *

The metallic wheel of the aquarium door turned with a high _screech_. The sound broke Jack out of his stupor, and he rose slowly. 

Was it time? Were they coming for him now? Should he be afraid? He felt like he should be afraid, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

He waited, his muscles rigid and his muscles wound tight. But when the door opened, the only person standing on the other side was Juliet. She didn't even have a gun. She merely smiled at him and said, "Good evening, Jack."

"Hey," he muttered, and promptly sat back down.

"I've brought you something." She set a plate on the table. "You like pasta, don't you?"

"Yeah." He didn't bother to ask how she knew that.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Is something wrong, Jack?"

"No. Everything is fine, Juliet."

"There's something I thought you'd like to know…" She moved toward him, walking in that slow, liquid way of hers. She reminded of him Sarah at odd moments like these. They both had such a practiced ease about them. Everything they did was so calm, so sure.

"Oh really?" Jack sounded bored, which was intentional, of course. He wanted Juliet to know that she posed no temptation. He had learned his lesson with Sarah.

In a soft voice, she said, "Jack, please…" Her fingers swept the curve of his jaw; her palm settled against his face. He only gave her a dull look and turned away.

"What do you want?"

She sighed. "Your friends, they came back. We've locked them up again, and this time, they won't escape."

Jack tried his hardest not to react. He swallowed deeply, now keenly aware of the thudding of his heart in his chest and veins. He thought of Kate in handcuffs, wet with the heavy downpour of rain and dirty with long nights spent sleeping on the cold, muddy ground of her cage. And Sawyer—they would surely kill him right away. And as much as Jack hated Sawyer right now, he couldn't wish that on the other man.

He just couldn't help himself. He had to ask…

"They're alive? They're not hurt?"

"No. They're fine."

"Can I see them?"

"No, Jack. Not now."

"When?" He looked at her fully for the first time since she entered the room.

"I don't know, Jack. And… I'm sorry. I didn't want things to turn out this way."

Juliet stepped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind her. Still sitting, staring at the dish of pasta for which he had no appetite, Jack felt a surge of hard anger within. Not only had he failed to save Kate and Sawyer, but his act of defiance would now result in all three of their deaths.

_I'm sorry_, she had said.

He didn't believe her. Not a single word. Not for a moment. No, he had learned his lesson with Sarah, and Ben, and his father. And even with Kate.

He'd never be fooled like that again.

* * *

Evening arrived, and it started to rain again. Kate curled up in the corner of her cage, pulling her legs in toward her chest and pressing her forehead to her knees. She felt her failure in her pit of her stomach, a dull, throbbing ache that wouldn't go away. 

It was foolish to go back with no weapons and no plan, but for once she just couldn't run away. And she had hoped that for once—just this once—blind faith might somehow get her through. Maybe, by some chance, she'd stumble upon a handgun or a sharp object and manage to find her way to Jack's cell. Maybe she'd break the lock, and nobody would hear. And maybe Kate, Jack, and Sawyer would miraculously find their way off this island, and for once, fate would be working _for_, not _against_, her.

It made no sense whatsoever, but then, Kate had never seen much sense in faith or hope.

In the adjacent cage, Sawyer leaned against the bars and watched her.

"Are you mad at me?" she said in a small voice.

He looked away for a minute.

"It was a stupid thing to do."

"I know." It hurt to hear him say it, but it was true.

"Could'a been killed, both of us."

"I know."

"Freckles, you're not careless. That ain't you."

"I know."

"So… _why_?"

She knew what he was asking. She could see it in his eyes, which were hard and unforgiving, but she asked the question anyway. "Why what?"

"Why couldn't just you run?"

All her life she had been running—running from people, danger, jail, fear, mistakes, truth, love. But when the time came that she was told to run and everything, their very lives, hung in the balance, Kate could not run.

She just needed to save him.

Maybe this was how Jack felt when he operated on someone. She remembered the way he had beat Charlie's chest over and over until the dead man breathed again and the way he had given so much of his very own blood in reckless hope that it might save Boone, and she now understood how he must have felt.

Desperate. Single-minded. Unafraid.

"I just couldn't leave, knowing they were going to kill him," Kate finally said.

"I ain't mad at you."

"You're not?"

"Nah. If it was you tellin' me to run, I would'a stayed too. Or at least, I would'a turned around and came back."

Sawyer had said he loved her, and Kate knew he'd never say those words if he wasn't absolutely certain. Though she had said she loved him, she couldn't be so sure of her own feelings. She cared about Sawyer; she was attracted to him and enjoyed his company. He made her laugh. He tolerated her lies. He knew the fear that drove her and understood the compromises she's made. He would never blame her for running, and he would never try to stop her.

But she didn't want to be afraid. She didn't want to run.

"I'm sorry, Sawyer."

"For what?"

"You don't deserve this."

"Damn right I don't." He wrapped his hands around the bars, considering them for a moment. "You think you can climb through those bars again and unlock my cage? Maybe with a head start and a distraction, we can buy enough time to make a run for it."

"Doesn't matter if I can, Sawyer. They're watching us. They have cameras."

"What's this? You giving up already?"

"Jack's still in there."

Sawyer sighed. "Jack's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"And I'm a big girl, Sawyer. So why don't you go and let me take care of myself?"

"You know I won't."

"Then I guess we're staying."

* * *

Jack paced north to south, wearing a path alongside the clear glass wall. Was it only yesterday that Kate had stood behind that very window, her smile faint and hopeless as his own? What he wouldn't give to see her now, to talk to her and ask her if she was okay. He wondered if there was a way he could barter for her freedom. They were keeping him alive, so they must still want _something_ from him. Whatever it was that they wanted, he'd gladly give it to them. 

The door gave a _creak_ again, and Jack stopped his pacing.

It was a woman—no, a girl that he had never seen before.

"You're Jack," she said. He nodded. "I'm Alex."

Instinct told him she was a friend. She looked him in the eyes, and she seemed to measuring him much as he was measuring her.

"Kate and Sawyer… they came back to save you and they got caught," Alex said.

"I heard."

"I came to tell you that I'm going to help them escape. Juliet probably won't tell you about it. She'll want you to they're still at her mercy."

"Why are you doing this?" Jack asked. "Why should I believe you?"

Alex shrugged. "I like them—Kate and Sawyer. And Ben asked me to."

"Ben? Now _that_ I don't believe."

"He told me to tell you… He always keeps his promises."

Jack began pacing again. His brow drew together, tense lines forming across his forehead. This made no sense. Was this just another manipulation? Another attempt to break him?

"What the hell does he want from me?"

"I don't know," Alex said. "I do know he doesn't want you dead. At least that's something."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Her large gray eyes flickered in the weak light. "You don't, I guess. But I want to help you."

"Then get Kate and Sawyer out of here."

"She won't want to leave without you."

"Then you've got to make her go," he said fiercely.

"How?"

"Tell her… Tell her I fought back, but there were too many of them. Tell her they shot me. Tell her I'm dead."

Alex raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

This would hurt her, he knew. This would wound her. She would grieve; she would cry; and she would miss him.

But she would move on. She would live.

"Yes."

The girl gave Jack a slight smile. "You must really care about her."

He thought of her beautiful, elfin features and her curls the color of dark chocolate. He thought of her heartbreaking eyes, their rare shade of green that always made reminded him of gardens, the sea, and spring. He thought of her tears, how every time she cried he felt his own heart seize with a pain too real and sharp to be anything other than—

But refusing to finish that thought, he said, "More than I should, I think."

"I promise I'll save her. And I always keep my promises too."

Jack swallowed, unable to speak for a moment. "Thank you," he replied finally.

* * *

"Kate." 

The voice was soft, female, whispered into the night air, and it jerked Kate out of a deep, exhausted slumber.

"Kate, you need to get up."

Kate opened her eyes with a low groan and pulled herself up in a sitting position. Before her crouched a young girl—a familiar face with delicate features and a mass of dark hair.

"You again," Kate said. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"My name is Alex. I'm breaking you out of here. Now com'on, get up."

"Rise and shine, Freckles," said Sawyer from the neighboring cage. He was awake and standing.

"I can't go," Kate said. "You should get Sawyer out of here, but I can't go."

Alex grabbed her hands, squeezing them so hard it hurt. "You've got to go. I only have a few more minutes before they realize I'm gone, and then they'll start looking for me. So you've got to go _now_."

"I need to find Jack."

Sawyer wrapped both hands around the bars of his cage and watched at her from behind the veil of his golden hair. He spoke quietly, but his voice was taut as a bowstring. "Freckles, we gotta go."

"I _don't _leave without him," she said, glancing from Sawyer to Alex. Sawyer couldn't meet her gaze. He bit his lip, turned away.

And what she saw in Alex's face nearly stopped her heart.

"Kate… Jack is gone."

No.

No.

_No_.

_It can't be. He can't be gone. No. I would know._

_I would know._

She tried to speak, but a cold vice of emotion wrapped itself around her throat and her voice refused to obey. "No," was all she could choke out.

"I'm sorry, but he's dead."

"I don't believe it."

"He—he fought back…" Alex said in a low, halting voice. Her gaze shifted towards the ground. "There were just too many of them. And they… they tied his hands, and they made him kneel, and they held a gun to his temple."

_No._

"I'm so sorry, Kate. He was very brave, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Kate whispered.

And she shut her eyes.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five.

* * *

_

**Credit where credit is due:** Chapter title borrowed from an Oscar Wilde quote: _Life is one fool thing after another where as love is two fool things after each other. _

**Next chapter:** Kate grieves. Sawyer gets frustrated. And Jack plays poker.


	4. End of the World

**Author's Note**: First of all, I'm _so sorry_ I've taken so long to post this chapter. I've been battling some serious writer's block lately, but I think it's finally abated. Secondly, a huge THANK YOU to all my reviewers. I promise that chapter five will not be long in coming. In fact, I hope to have it up in about a week, maybe less.

Also, I changed the rating from **M** to **T**, because I don't know if this story will warrant a mature rating. There may be a love scene near the end, but I'm not sure if it will fit the plot and theme. If I do decide to include it, I will probably change the rating back to M.

**Disclaimer**: I have no money, and I don't own anything. Spare yourself the waste of time—don't sue.

* * *

**Love Unfold**

Part Four: End of the World

The forest was an impenetrable black and so thick, so hushed, that it was difficult to breathe. Alex, Kate, and Sawyer made their way through the darkness, walking in a single file line with Alex leading the way. She carried a long, viciously sharp knife, which she used to cut away obstructing foliage, and a torch to light their path.

After several miles, they broke through the tree line and arrived at a dock, where several boats of varying types and sizes were parked. Wordlessly, Alex waved them to a small motorboat. She started the engine as soon as they climbed in, and then they were speeding away from the coast.

The ride took longer than Kate expected. Sitting in the bow, she let wind tear through her loose, tangled hair. Every time the boat rose and fell, her face and arms were showered with a cool spray of salt water. Sawyer sat next to her; she could feel his eyes studying her profile and the angle of her body. She did not try to make conversation, and for once, he was silent as well.

When they arrived at a deserted white shore, the night was already fading into morning. Alex pulled the boat into shallow water, and Sawyer and Kate jumped overboard.

"You'll have head east," Alex said, pointing towards the sun. "If you walk fast, you should meet up with the other survivors in another two or three hours."

"We'll do that." Sawyer nodded to her. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. Just stay alive, alright?"

"That's our plan."

Oblivious to the exchange, Kate leaned against Sawyer's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and shook her slightly in an attempt to rouse her from her stupor. She hadn't said a word since their broke out of the cages.

"Hey, Sassafras, you okay?" She didn't respond. He leaned down to gaze into her blank eyes, but she still did not acknowledge him. "Well, then, I guess we better get goin'."

"Good luck." Alex gave them grim smile. "Hopefully I won't see you again."

The engine gave a sudden roar, and the boat pulled out to sea. A few minutes later, it disappeared in the stretch of open sea and choppy waves.

They walked east. Streaks of pink and gold softened the deep cobalt sky into a soft azure as the sun rose higher in the sky. The gentle tide was slowly receding from the shoreline, leaving the sand soft and mushy beneath their feet. They moved as quickly as they could, but the heat and hunger and dehydration were already taking their toll. Kate's hands began to shake; her muscles ached; her head felt light and airy.

It was the longest walk of her life.

She could only concentrate on step after step, step after agonizing step. She could not think about returning to the other survivors, all their questions, their concern, their pity. She could not think about her intolerably dry mouth, which tasted of saltwater and hot, rough sand. She could not think about the deep gulf in her stomach, which was crying out for food, something other than mango or fish. She could not think about Sawyer, who still had his heavy arm wrapped around her, trying comfort and support her. Most of all, she could not think Jack, who was not here but ought to be.

She could not think about anything, and she could not feel anything, because if she did, all the thinking and all the feeling would rise like a great, towering breaker and she would be dragged under by its terrible undercurrent.

Oblivious to a stray root jutting out of the sand, Kate tripped and nearly fell. Sawyer caught her before her knees and hands hit the ground.

"Com'on, buck up, Freckles. You're gonna make it." He offered her a smile. He meant, she thought, to lift her spirits.

In response, she merely looked down at her own footprints.

Step after agonizing step.

* * *

"So, Jack, are you enjoying the fresh air?"

Ben looked up at Jack from his hospital bed, his expression amiable and his gaze curiously blank. On a table across his lap lay a heavy, hardcover book, a manila folder, and a deck of cards.

Jack met the other man's eyes with his own impassive stare.

"Ben, what the hell do you want from me?"

He wondered how many times he's asked that question. Too many times, he mused, and he's never gotten a straight answer.

"I would like to know if you prefer your cage to the aquarium."

_What sort of game is he playing now?_ Jack thought. He didn't have anything else that the Others could possibly want, and he couldn't figure out why Ben would do him a favor by freeing Kate and Sawyer. It made no sense.

For once, he decided, he'd play along with Ben's game.

"It's not bad," Jack said, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "It's nice to see the sun. I'm getting my tan back."

"You were looking rather sickly." Ben's lips quirked with a hint of a smile.

"Well," Jack replied evenly, "that _is_ what happens when you're separated from your friends and locked in a dark room for several weeks."

The smile dropped from Ben's mouth and he looked away. "Have you ever faced death, Jack? Have you ever felt that raw fear of the unknown? That fear that you can't shake, that keeps you from sleeping, night after night, and haunts every footstep, clouds every thought? When faced with that fear, you will do anything to save yourself."

"I know what fear is," Jack said in a harsh voice, "and I would never do what you did."

"Oh, but wouldn't you? You were going to let me die on that table, weren't you?"

"That's different. I didn't do that for myself."

"Yes, but I would still have been dead. And my blood would still be on your hands."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"Just as I won't apologize for trying to save my own life."

Ben waited for Jack's reaction, but Jack merely leaned back in his chair and shrugged. He used to get frustrated when he sensed he was being manipulated, but that no longer fazed him. If Ben wanted to play games, then fine, Jack would play. That didn't mean, however, that he would play by their rules.

He would make up his own damn rules.

"You know, you could have just _asked_ me to do the surgery," he said.

"Jack, you may be the heroic doctor, but you would not have operated on the man responsible for your captivity, not to mention the deaths of several people from your camp."

"Probably not, but would it have killed you to ask?"

"Maybe it would have," Ben said. He held out a deck of cards. "Do you play poker, Jack?"

"I thought you knew everything about me." Jack took the deck and shuffled it a few times. _Now this is _my _game_, he thought with an inward smile.

"I can't possibly know everything about you. I do have your file right here." He picked up the manila folder and flipped it over. "You're an intriguing person, Jack. But so was your father, and Sarah. There's a lot about them in here as well."

"So I've heard."

"Ah, Juliet told you." Ben watched Jack's fingers as the cards fluttered through them. Jack began to deal, giving them five cards apiece.

"Yes," he said. "What are we playing for?"

"What do _you_ want to play for?"

"I want what I've always wanted—off this damn island."

"I'm not going to play you for that."

"You're not?"

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because, Jack, I've already made you a promise. I am going to give you a way off this island."

"When?"

"Soon. So, what are our stakes?" He gestured at the cards.

"The file." Jack closed reached across the table and closed the file, placing it on the bed between them. "I win, and I get my file."

"Whatever you're looking for, it's not in there."

"I'm not looking for anything."

* * *

"_Where the hell have you been? I've been looking for you all night!"_

"_I was at the hospital, Jack." Christian shrugged off his suit coat and hung it inside the hotel closet. _

"_I called the hospital. There was no Dr. Shephard consulting tonight." _

"_Did you try the OR?"_

_Jack glared at him. "Yes, Dad, I'm not an idiot. I tried the OR several times."_

"_Well, whoever you spoke to must be incompetent, because I—"_

"_Stop it! Stop _lying_ to me! I tried the hospital. I tried your cell phone. I tried every bar in a twenty mile radius—"_

"_I haven't had a drink in three months."_

"_And I'm supposed to believe you?" He was shouting now, his hands gesturing wildly with a life of their own. "You lie about where you are, and I'm supposed to believe you're not lying being sober?!"_

"_Would you like to do a blood test?" Christian said, tone thick with sarcasm. "I didn't drink, Jack."_

"_I know," Jack said with an equal amount of scorn. "Believe me, I _know_ when you've been drinking."_

_Christian flinched but didn't reply. He sat down heavily on the bed, and Jack, who was still standing, waited._

"_Well, where were you?"_

"_Last time I checked, I was the father here. I don't report to you."_

"_You do when I wait up till—" Jack glanced at his watch. "—five a.m. because you vanished into thin air."_

_Christian's eyes narrowed as he looked up at his son. "I had to take care of something."_

"_What." It was not a question. It was a demand._

"_It's personal."_

"_I'm your son. I think you can tell me."_

_Jack's eyes were huge and dark as they always were when he was angry. _He gets that from his mother, _Christian thought with a pang of guilt._

"_It's not your business."_

_Jack moved directly in front of Christian, his hands on his hips and his jaw rigid with resolve. "Then I'm making it my business."_

_Christian sighed. Sometimes it was impossible to win an argument with Jack. The boy was too stubborn for his own good._

"_Don't open this box of worms, Jack. You don't want to know."_

"_I swear to God, if you don't tell—"_

"_You really want to know? You're sure? Fine. I was with a woman. That's where I was, Jack. Your old man was with another woman—a woman's who's not your mother. Now are you glad you've got the truth? Does that make you feel better? Do you believe me now?"_

_And there it was—that look of deep injury in Jack's eyes that, try as he might to ignore it, Christian felt like a knife though his heart. He didn't want to hurt Jack; he tried not to. But no matter how he tried, something he did or said always wounded his son. And afterwards, he didn't know what to say or do to make it better. Usually there was nothing that could be done._

_If there was one thing both medicine and fatherhood had taught Christian, it was that some wounds were just too deep to heal._

"_You were—again?" Jack breathed. "You… I thought you and Mom had reconciled."_

"_We did. I was saying goodbye, cutting ties."_

_Clearly, Jack did not believe that._

_But it had been a very long time since Jack believed him. And it had been even longer since Jack believed _in_ him._

"_I'm sorry, I wanted this trip to be a good time for us. I didn't mean to ruin it with my—"_

_Jack gave him an ugly look. "Next time you want to go screwing other women and wrecking your marriage, don't drag me into it." He turned away and sank down onto the bed. His shoulders slumped, his whole body giving way under emotional exhaustion. "I don't know why I hoped, why I thought maybe this time…"_

"_Son—"_

"_Our flight leaves in four hours. I'm going to bed."_

_He lay down, pulled the blankets over himself, and switched off the lights. Christian moved over to the tall window and gazed out at the city skyline. Though he wanted to roll over and fall asleep, Jack couldn't help but stare at his father's black silhouette—the posture rigid and perfect, the white hair and keen features awash in pale moonlight. _

_Hot tears surfaced. He blinked them back._

_Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and hoped, rather irrationally, that when he woke all this would be nothing but a bad dream._

* * *

When Kate and Sawyer reached the line of tents, they were abruptly surrounded by a swarm of people. Charlie. Hurley. Locke. Claire and Aaron. Nikki. Paulo. Sayid. Desmond. Rose. Bernard. Sun and Jin. There were arms embracing them, soft cries, loud laughs, big grins, and so many voices saying, _Oh thank God, you're alive!_

Kate wasn't ready to thank God just yet.

In fact, she rather wanted to curse at him.

Instead, she merely watched the mass of people around her with an odd, frozen detachment. Someone handed her a bottle of water; she drank from it greedily. The cool liquid slid down her throat, and slowly the world stopped spinning.

"Hey, where's Jack?" said Hurley, looking around as if he imagined the doctor would suddenly appear.

Charlie added, "Yeah, is he—is he coming?"

_No_, _he's not_. _He's not coming—not now, not ever._

It was Sawyer who actually said the words aloud. "No. He's—he ain't comin' back."

The silence that followed was as broad and deep as the sky above them.

"But," said Sun in a low voice, "he's…"

"Yeah," Sawyer replied, answering her unasked question.

Disbelief, _fear_, was etched into everyone's faces. They needed Jack, and they knew it. Even the smallest injury was dangerous here, and if something went wrong or someone got sick, Jack was the only one who might be able to save them.

Besides, he was kind and good and strong and trustworthy. He was _Jack_.

And he was gone.

"What happened?" Charlie whispered. "How did he—how did it happen?"

"The Others… He double-crossed them so we could get away," Sawyer said.

"Oh."

No one said anything. No one, Kate suspected, had anything to say. After all, what could they say to make it better, to try and understand?

No, there was nothing to say.

Charlie laid a hand on Claire's shoulder as she blinked back tears. John Locke lowered his head in a gesture of sadness and respect. Hurley shut his eyes, his brow creasing with something like confusion or disbelief. Sun reached over and took one of Kate's hands in her own.

"I'm sorry. I'm—" she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Everyone turned to look at Kate.

"Kate…" Charlie started towards her. He laid a hand on her forearm, but she drew back.

"No. I—I just need to…" She looked from person to person, her eyes huge and glistening with unshed tears. "I need to go." She stumbled away from the crowd.

Sawyer sighed. "Kate…"

"Let her go," Sayid said.

"Listen, Saddam—"

The Iraqi's warm, sad gaze stopped him. "Trust me, she needs to be alone."

Sawyer gritted his teeth but consented with a curt nod. He watched her trudge along the beach, her arms wrapped around herself, her small figure diminishing in the brilliant sunlight. He had wanted to say something to her—something sharp and cheeky to bring out that glowing smile or sweet laugh of hers. He had been trying to think of something ever since they found out that Jack was dead. But whatever words she needed to hear, he couldn't seem to find them.

_Nice going, Jackass,_ he thought. _You had die and break her heart, and now I've gotta pick up the pieces._

He spat in the sand, trying to rid his mouth of the sharp tang of envy.

Even in death, he was still competing with Jack—the Brilliant Surgeon, Fearless Leader, and Knight in Shining Armor. And Sawyer was still determined to win. If he didn't have the words Kate needed to hear, then he'd just keep talking till he said the right thing. If he couldn't make her smile now, then he'd just have to wait it out till the day when she forgot Jack and remembered how she loved him, Sawyer.

And in the end, when that day came, she would no longer shrink at the sight of him, and she would laugh again, and she would be _his_. In the end, Sawyer told himself, he would win.

"Anybody got anything to eat?" he said aloud. "I'm so hungry I could eat a wild boar."

"I've got some mango cut up and some fresh fish," Claire offered.

"That'd be right fine, Mamacita."

Lighting a fire beside his tent, Sawyer ate Claire's food and lounged in the sand, watching the glittering, diamond sea. The fish and fruit tasted better than anything he'd eaten in weeks, and it felt wonderful to have such freedom of movement, to not be surrounded by bars and men with guns. There was no more waiting for the day when they finally pulled the trigger of the pistol pointed at his head. There was no more watching over Kate as they were forced to dig and move stones.

There was no more wondering where Jack was or what he was doing.

Though he had to admit, he _was_ kind of sorry the doc was dead. Sawyer didn't hate Jack, and he certainly didn't deserve to die like that. In fact, out of all them, Jack should've been the one to live. It wasn't fair that he had survived and Jack had not, and he knew that.

But Sawyer also knew that life was rarely fair. And that was why, despite all his sins, Sawyer was sitting beside a warm fire, popping bits of juicy mango into his mouth and enjoying a beautiful morning when Jack was probably six feet under in an unmarked grave. It wasn't fair, but that's the way it was.

And, Sawyer decided, he could live with that.

* * *

"For being such an emotional person, you're remarkably good at bluffing."

Ben spread his cards a cross the table: a king, a five, a four, and a pair of nines. He gave Jack a probing look. "If, in fact, you are bluffing."

"Maybe I don't need to bluff, Ben." Jack laid his hand down. "Two pair. I guess that means the file is mine."

Ben handed it to him. "You may want to reconsider before you read that. Everyone has secrets, Jack, even your father."

"Especially my father."

"Then go ahead. I suppose it will help you pass some time until you leave."

"Right, until you make good on your promise."

The trace of sarcasm in that statement did not go unnoticed by Ben.

"Jack… what if I were to give you a choice? What if you could leave this island today, and go back to civilization, back to L.A., back to your old life, your home, your job? What if you could have everything the way it was?"

"Maybe I would, if I could."

"You can. I can make it possible. But there's one condition.

"You can never return here—not to rescue the rest of your people, not for anything. You won't even know where the island is, so you won't be able to come back. And you won't see any of them—not one—ever again. It would almost be like it never happened. Like a bad dream."

"What's behind door number two?"

"You… After you do me a small favor, you go back to the other island, back to your people. You lose your chance to go home. You choose to stay, at least for the time being."

Jack curled the file in one fist, his stomach turning with a sick, sharp pain. Either way, what did he have to return to? His job with its long hours and stress-induced headaches? His empty house with its white walls and quiet rooms? His mother, who by now probably thought both he and his father were dead? And if he went back to the island…

The image of Kate in Sawyer's arms came unbidden to his mind.

He shut his eyes, pushing that thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it. What was done was done. If Kate loved Sawyer, then Jack would just have to get over that.

No matter how much it hurt.

"What's the favor?" he said after a long moment.

"It's… There's someone I want you to take with you, back to your camp."

"Alex," Jack inferred.

Ben didn't confirm or deny it. He leaned forward, looked Jack directly in the eye, and said, "Kate made her choice, Jack. Now it's time to make yours."

* * *

Kate couldn't sleep.

When she left Sawyer and the others, she'd gone directly to the hatch, only to find nothing there but burnt grass and rubble. She had wandered aimlessly around the jungle for several hours until finally ending up at the caves. She drank from the spring and then sat in the spot that used to be Jack's medical bay. It was already dusk by the time she returned to the camp. Sawyer had spotted her and called her over to his fire. He gave her some food and then stood and stretched, saying he was turning in for the night.

He had pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the forehead, murmuring, "Come to bed, Sweetheart."

So she had spent the last few hours staring at the ceiling of his tent and listening his soft, rhythmic breathing. Try as she might, she couldn't make her muscles relax.

It felt so... unreal.

She was lying in Sawyer's tent. Jack wouldn't have liked that.

For the thousandth time, Kate felt a white-hot stab of grief in the hollow of her stomach. It was so sudden, so keen, that for a moment, it made her gasp for air.

And when she got her breath back, she decided she was going to suffocate if she didn't get out of this tent _right this fucking moment_.

She practically flung herself outside, landing hard on the sandy ground and then hauling herself to her feet. She took off running towards the water, her bare feet skidding through the sand until she stopped at the shoreline.

The vast, bottomless ocean.

Naturally, it made her think of Jack—of sitting there quietly, or talking of his father, or arguing about her unspoken crimes and her betrayal, or shouting over the howl of wind and rain.

Kate let the tide wash over her bare feet while she sank into the fine, yielding sand. The water was cool, and after a while, her feet went numb all the way up to the ankle. The beach was silent, save for the rustle of the breeze high in the canopy of palm trees. Not even the insects and nocturnal creatures of the jungle made a sound. And with no light, not even that of dying campfires, black sky bled into black sea. The distant horizon was indistinguishable from the rising, falling, rolling waves. It was like looking into the end of the world.

_This is what life without Jack is like_, Kate thought. It was like this, like standing at the edge of the sea on a starless night, wondering what the tomorrow held but seeing no possible light in the future.

And she wondered if maybe this was what death was like—this deep darkness, this utter silence.

_Jack_, she thought, _can you hear me where you are? Will you even listen if I speak?_

But why should he listen? He offered to listen when he alive, but she was too scared and the only things she could tell him were lies. She tried to tell him how sorry she was, how she didn't want to lie, how she wanted to trust him, how much he meant to her and how much she needed him and how she really wasn't sorry for that kiss. How she wanted to kiss him again, and again, and again.

Somehow the words never came out right.

Or never came out at all.

_I'm sorry, Jack_.

She could think of a hundred or more things she would do differently, but none of that mattered now. Mostly, she just wished he had forgiven her. For _what_ precisely, she didn't know, but if he were to look at her with his fathomless eyes and say in that quiet, fierce tone that _he forgives her_, then she would finally feel good, clean, whole, _fixed_. She wouldn't be broken anymore.

But she was broken—standing lonely and alone on a beach in the middle of the night because she didn't want to sleep or dream or lie down next to another man. Because she didn't want to bear the others' sympathetic glances or awkward condolences, didn't want to exchange smiles and jokes while her heart throbs with a deep internal ache, didn't want to pretend like everything was all right.

She missed him most of all here, when no one else was around. She missed the times when they sat facing the ocean under the baking sun or cross-legged around a fire, and exchanged small-talk—discussing the hatch or flux of the tides or what kind of fruit she should pick the next day—or said absolutely nothing at all. He had a way of sharing the silences that always made the loneliness fade away.

She needed that. She needed Jack like she needed her father, and Tom, and Kevin, only more so. Maybe if she hadn't met him, she could've stayed lonely and broken; because before Jack, she didn't know that she needed anyone.

Now she did know. He had made her see that she couldn't make it on her own. He had forced to her to be honest. He made her remember what it was to be happy, to be whole, to believe in something—in someone.

Jack had _changed_ her. She could never go back to what she was before him.

And she could not make this emptiness go away.

* * *

**Next chapter: **Jack reads the file and makes his choice; the Losties hold a funeral; Kate finally loses it.

**Author's Note: **I hope the angst was too much in this chapter. Things will improve, I promise.

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	5. Faith

**Love Unfold**

Part Five: Faith

* * *

In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don't.

--Blaise Pascal

* * *

The file was at least two inches thick, the papers inside the manila folder held fast by several rubber bands. Scrawled across the file's cover in cramped script were the words _Shephard, Jack_. 

Jack gazed at it a moment before he pulled off the rubber bands and flipped it open.

He skimmed the first few pages: medical records; college transcripts; copies of his birth certificate, driver's license, passport, diplomas, marriage license; and various dissolution of marriage documents. On some pages, there random notes jotted in the margins, saying things like _prefers red wine and scotch, does not drink brandy or bourbon_; or _mildly allergic to peanuts_. It was strange and uncomfortable to see his life chronicled in such a way.

In the middle, he found an envelope of photos that contained pictures of him as a boy, as well as several taken during college, one from his wedding, and recent candid photos from his stay in Phuhket. The photographer had made sure to get more than one clear shot of his tattoos.

Jack stuffed the pictures back in the envelope. Turning to the back of file, he pulled out a stack of papers and pictures labeled _Christian Shephard_. Now _this_ was what he was looking for.

He scanned the information and finally stopped halfway through the second page.

Spouse: Margo Hartman Shephard (m. 06/10/1962)

Extramarital Affairs: Lucy Foster (01/1974—05/1974)

Sandra Sausman (12/1974)

Jennifer Miller (04/1975)

Lindsey Littleton (01—04/1982)

Heather Hirsch (07/1998)

Eva Marquez (12/1998—09/1999)

Six different women. He knew his father had, at times, been unfaithful, but he never imagined it was this many times, with this many women.

Heather Hirsch—Jack remembered her. She was a nurse at St. Sebastian's. She worked in the ER. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Funny and very pretty. And judging by the date, Eva Marquez was probably the woman his father had been "saying goodbye" to during their ill-fated trip to Boston. The names Lucy Foster and Sandra Sausman did not ring a bell, but something about that third name, Lindsey Littleton, brought a feeling of odd and unwelcome familiarity.

_Goddamnit, Dad, you just had to make life difficult and miserable for everyone involved. _

Jack used to wonder what it would have been like if his father had been different. What if he hadn't drank? What if he hadn't cheated, hadn't lied? What if he had been around more, hadn't worked such long hours? What if he hadn't been so angry, so demanding, so unbending?

_What if._ He gave up on _what if_ a long time ago.

Returning to the page before him, he scanned the rest of the information, stopping near the bottom.

Children: Jack Shephard

Claire Littleton (b. 04/17/1982 to Lindsey Littleton)

He stared at that last line. Claire Littleton, daughter of Lindsey Littleton and Christian Shephard.

Holy shit.

He had a sister.

* * *

Sawyer stirred. His eyes opened slowly, and he stretched, his limbs waking with the rest of his body. Almost immediately, he reached for Kate, for her warm, little body, intending on pulling her close to his chest to feel the curve of her figure against him. 

But his grasping hand only found empty blankets and sand.

"Freckles?"

He jumped up and walked outside the tent.

"Freckles, you there?"

The sun was climbing slowly in the sky, spilling its warm, red-yellow light over eastern trees and mountains. The beach was still, empty. A few fires from the previous night emitted slow, curling wisps of gray smoke; lazy waves climbed the shoreline and gradually fell back to the ocean. No one, it seemed, was awake yet.

Sawyer stuffed his hands in his pockets and started to weave about the tents and crudely erected lean-to's. He ended his search at the water's edge, squinting as he glanced down along the shore to his left and right. No Kate.

Circling the camp again, he came to the line of trees that separated beach from jungle and headed inward, calling out her name to no reply. The brush crunched beneath his heavy footsteps, but he made no effort to tread lightly. He figured if she could hear him walking around or could pick up his trail, then that was a good thing. His aimless path eventually led back to the camp, and he found himself at his own tent. He peeked inside one more time, just in case.

No Kate.

"Damnit, Freckles," he muttered.

Striding down the beach, he headed directly toward one particular tent. "Sayid. Sayid, wake up."

The other man shifted, eyes coming open slowly. He did not look pleased. "What do you want, Sawyer?"

"It's Kate. She's gone."

"Have you looked—"

"Yes, I've _looked_. I've looked everywhere. She's not here."

"You don't think she's done anything… rash."

_Like steal Desmond's boat and sail back to Alcatraz to take revenge on the people who killed Jack? _he thought.

_Now why would she do a thing like that?_

The muscle in his jaw gave a slight tick. Aloud, he said, "I don't know where she is, or what she'll do. I need a gun."

"Sawyer—"

"I'm going with or without a gun. Having one just makes it easier."

Sayid hesitated, then nodded. "Right." He reached for a pistol and checked the mag. "You've got ten rounds. And here. Another ten." He handed Sawyer a rifle as well as the pistol. "If you don't find her within a couple of miles from the beach, come back and we'll organize a search party."

"Thanks, Ali," Sawyer said.

He set out into the jungle, following their familiar path along the boundary of trees, into the foliage, and towards the hatch. He wished he knew how to track. _She'll teach me_, he decided. _When I find her and bring her back and she finally gets over the doc, then she'll teach me how to track. Maybe then we'll be ones caught in a net._

Even to his own ears, that sounded suspiciously like envy.

It wasn't that he was jealous, he told himself, it was that Kate didn't always know her own heart. And he was no fool. He saw the looks she gave Jack, and he knew that they weren't nothing. He saw the way the two would gravitate toward one another, the way they sought each other out for support, their eyes silently agreeing and affirming across the room. He saw how she always looked for Jack, always called for Jack, when something went wrong. When people began to panic, when there was death or blood or fire, when she was afraid or didn't know what to do, she always looked to Jack. And when she did, her eyes were full of…

_Full of faith_, he thought bitterly.

But she didn't choose Jack. She chose him, Sawyer. She kissed _him_. She had sex with _him_. And she said it first—those three words he never thought he'd hear from her lips.

He clutched the rifle tightly and moved deeper into jungle.

_Well hell_, he thought, _I can have faith too._

* * *

Sometime during the previous night, Kate must have snuck out of his tent and made her way to Jack's tent, because that was where Sawyer found her later that morning. She was curled up on a blanket with one of Jack's shirts as a makeshift pillow; her fists were pressed to her chest, her legs bent, ankles crossed, shoulders drawn taut and hard. Her eyes were closed. Sawyer crept up to her still form as quietly as possible and laid his fingers on her arm. 

Asleep—she was fast asleep.

* * *

_She always thought her daddy looked tall and handsome in his fatigues—like a great general, like a hero. _

_But now, standing in their driveway, his suitcases stacked neatly by the car, he didn't look so heroic. He just looked sad and distant._

"_Do you have to go, Daddy?" Seven-year-old Kate grasped his pant leg and tugged insistently._

"_Yes, Sweetheart."_

"_But…why?"_

"_Because they need me to fight."_

_Her eyes burned with tears. She blinked /, wishing them away, but they inadvertently slipped past her eyelashes and slid down her cheeks._

"_But you can't go, Daddy. I don't want you to go."_

"_Oh, Katie, I love you so much." Sam Austen knelt down and drew his tiny daughter into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her hair while she buried her face in his chest. "I have something for you—a present."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yep."_

_He pulled out something plush and fuzzy, and she squealed in delight—a new teddy bear. She held the bear away from her, studying its russet fur and round, dark eyes. _

"_Its name is Sam. That's my name, you know. He's going to watch over you, and you can talk to him. It'll be like you're talking to me, okay?" She nodded. "Listen to me, Katie. I want you to remember this. I want you to believe it. I may be going far away, but I'll never leave you."_

"_You'll never, ever leave?"_

"_No, not really, not truly. I'll always be right here—" He laid his hand over her heart. "—with you."_

* * *

A gentle hand on her shoulder roused Kate from a hard, dreamless sleep. 

"Kate." It was Sun kneeling in the sand with a soft expression on her face. "We're having a funeral now. I thought you'd want to be there. For Jack."

Kate hauled herself up in sitting position and blinked. The blurry world came into sharp focus.

Jack.

Because Jack was…

"Right," she murmured. "Let's go."

Sun helped her up and the two women stepped out of the tent. Jack's tent, Kate realized. She hadn't meant to end up there last night. In fact, she couldn't remember much of the previous night at all, except for standing next to the water and feeling like she was going to die.

She swallowed deeply, pushing down the hot, overwhelming pressure in her chest.

Noticing her distress, Sun linked her arm in the crook of Kate's elbow and drew her close. "If it were Jin, I don't know what I would do."

"He's your husband. Jack's not my husband."

"Yes, but…" Sun bit her lip. "I think he might have loved you. The way he looked at you—"

"Don't."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I just meant that he cared about you, and you cared about him. And this doesn't feel—_right_."

No, it didn't feel right at all. But things between Jack and Kate had never been right. For some reason (Kate couldn't figure out why), they always managed to hurt each other. Sometimes, she would lie and run away, and then she could see in his wounded eyes that he refused to trust—much less forgive—her.

"I'm here, Kate," Sun said, "if you need anything at all." She squeezed Kate's hand. Kate only nodded in response.

They walked up the low hill to the sad, little cemetery where everyone else was gathered. It was a pathetic sight, Kate thought, with its rows of uneven graves and simple crosses for tombstones. Her eyes were drawn to one cross in the particular, situated near the end of the first row. It had no grave, no mound of dirt before it, no body buried beneath it. It was just two pieces of wood fixed together, crudely carved with the words _Jack Shephard_, and below that, _Hero_.

She felt her restraint begin to waver. A wave of emotion—cold, so cold—washed over her, and she suddenly found herself on her knees, hands trembling violently, breath coming in shallow, fast intervals till she felt her head begin to spin.

_Jack, you can't do this, you can't go. I need you. I need you, Jack._

_I need you._

She had to say goodbye, and it was happening too fast. It was like falling through the sky with no parachute: a moment of hesitation; blurred confusion; and that same wild, hurtling fear.

"Kate, would you like to say something?" John asked.

Even if there were words—some way to express this bottomless, breathless pain—she still wouldn't have anything to say.

Her and Jack—they never really needed words.

"All right then," John said when she didn't respond. "I guess I'll say a few words…"

He bowed his head and exhaled.

"Jack Shephard, I didn't know you as well as I should have. I know we didn't always see eye to eye, but you were a good man and a damn good doctor. I wish I would have had the chance to tell you that. I know it was tough, being the leader and the savior. That's a lot of pressure for one man. I certainly didn't make it any easier on you, but you… You did it because… because you cared so much about keeping us alive, about our survival and not just your own life. You just couldn't stand by and watch people die.

"I think maybe you believed too much in the—the sacredness of life, in the goodness of people. You had too much faith that we would make it, that we would survive, and that tomorrow would be a better day, and that one day we'd even get rescued. I was wrong about you, Jack. You were a man of faith, in your own way. You didn't want to believe in goodness and hope, but you couldn't help yourself. You did believe in those things, in spite of everything. That's just the kind of man you were—a good man, a hero."

John stepped back. Kate remained on her knees, arms wrapped around herself, and everyone else looked on silently. For a long moment, there was only the murmur of the breeze and the distant sound of the tide rolling in.

"We'll miss you, dude," Hurley said with an audible sniff. "Especially on that golf course."

"You _were_ a good man. Godspeed," Sayid said softly.

And then unexpectedly, Sawyer moved from the back of the crowd.

"You stitched me up more than once, doc. Thanks for saving my life. And I'm sorry, you know, about everything."

Kate's eyes snapped up to Sawyer's. His lips were pressed together in a hard line, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He actually looked quite… sad.

For reasons she couldn't and wouldn't fathom, sickening anger shot through her veins. He had no right to be sad. He had no right to be sorry.

Kate stood up slowly and faced him.

"You're _sorry._"

She stepped closer, staring him down with bright, burning eyes.

"Why are you _sorry?_ You don't _get_ to be sorry. You don't _deserve_ to be sorry, you son of a bitch."

"What the hell did I ever do—"

"_Shut up!_"

She was quivering with a sudden rush of unrestrained energy. The pent-up fire in her chest was threatening to explode.

Sawyer snorted. "See, I should'a seen this comin'. I knew you weren't over him. He had you before I ever did, didn't he? All that bullshit about bein' caught in a net—"

Kate flew at him, her fists swinging for his eyes, his nose, his torso, anywhere that would hurt. One blow landed on his jaw and then another to the side of his nose. His head snapped back with the force of it, and together they went tumbling into the sand. Sayid dragged her off him before she get in another hit.

"Son of a bitch!"

Blood poured from Sawyer's nose. He tried desperately to stop the bleeding, squinting and blinking at the flood of pain and tears. Sayid kept of firm grip on her arm, but she stopped struggling.

"Defending his honor, Sassafras? I don't think he cares, because, in case you didn't notice, he's dead."

"Yeah, he's dead."

This was the first time she'd said it aloud. The words seemed so small, and the tumult of emotion inside her heart seemed so impossibly big.

"He's dead. And you know what? I'm sorry. I'm sorry because he should've lived. You should've been the one to die."

It was a horrible thing to say, and Sawyer looked as if he'd just taken a blow to the stomach. She didn't care; she hoped it hurt.

But the expression on his face quickly shifted to something darker, full of cold rage. "Fuck you," he spat out.

"You already did," she said evenly. "And once was more than enough."

* * *

Her name was Claire. 

The only Claire he knew was the one now on the other island, the one who had given birth to Aaron, who was a tiny, cute little thing with bright, blue eyes and a huge smile. As bizarre as it was that he had actually had a sister (he still hadn't gotten over that yet), Jack didn't think he'd mind having a sister like her.

_I have a sister._

A slow smile stole across his face. He always wanted siblings. How nice it would be to have someone to visit on the holidays, someone to have over for dinner, someone to share stories with and to call and wish a happy birthday.

He went back to the file, digging through the rest of the information on Christian Shephard till he came up with another group of pictures. _Lindsey and Claire Littleton_, the envelope said. He flipped it open.

Inside he found a few photos of Lindsey, a smallish blond woman with curly hair and an attractive face. Funny, Jack thought, how his father seemed to like blonds when his mother had black hair. He thought immediately of Sarah, but quickly pushed that thought aside.

There was only one photo of a girl. She was probably fourteen or fifteen, and she strongly resembled her mother. That had to be his sister.

Only… she also strongly resembled _Claire_. In fact, if it weren't for the age difference, he'd swear they were one and the same. Unless the picture wasn't current, in which case…

_No, that's impossible_.

Claire was not his sister. She just wasn't. She couldn't be. The chances of that happening were so ridiculously small that he simply couldn't allow himself to believe that it was true.

Of course, if it were true, it certainly wouldn't be the most bizarre thing that happened on this island.

He'd have to ask Claire about her father, he decided. He would ask; and she would tell him about her dad, tell him stories about her dad buying her ice cream cones and reading her bedtimes and teaching her how to drive, and then this whole mess would be cleared up. And he'd know for sure that this was just one gigantic coincidence.

_Like everything else about this place, right_?

Jack sighed and shut the file. To talk to Claire he'd have to go back to the other island, which meant he'd have to take Ben up on his offer. It also meant he'd have to see Kate again.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

But he did know he couldn't go home if it meant he couldn't come back for his friends. He couldn't leave them here—couldn't leave _her_ here—with no hope for rescue.

He would tell Ben that he made his choice, but the truth was, there was no choice. Whether or not he wanted to, he had to go back to the island.

Approaching the bars of his cage, he stood in front of the video camera and waved his hands, shouting, "Hey! Is anyone there?"

No answer.

"Hello? Do you see me? I need to talk to you."

He kept shouting until someone emerged from the jungle minutes later.

"What do you want?" said the Other, an iron-haired man who clutched a nine-millimeter in his right hand and a radio in his left.

"I want to see Ben."

"Ben can't have visitors."

"I'm his doctor, and I say he can have visitors."

The older man looked irritated, but he relented with a gruff, "If you say so." He mumbled something into his radio.

Not two minutes later, Jack was bound and hooded while two armed guards escorted him to Ben's hospital room.

* * *

**Author's Note:** After many, many months with no updates, I hope chapter five did not disappoint. As far as Claire-is-Jack's-sister, I had planned on that before "Par Avion" aired. Overall, I'm not sure if I like this chapter. Drop me a review, and let me know what you think. 

**Next chapter: **Jack and Kate are reunited—I think. I make no promises because I haven't finished writing it yet.


End file.
